


The People Who Love You

by ms45



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms45/pseuds/ms45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little hairy-chested bird tells Carver about Merrill's planned trip to Sundermount after the failure of the Arulin'Holm. Carver tries to talk some sense into her. Gift fic for Kimmathy as part of the Dragon Age Holiday Cheer Valentine gift exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The People Who Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Iapetus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Iapetus) (iapetusneume on Tumblr) for help with this story.

The weather was Merrill’s favourite – black, wet and violent, rain pelting almost sideways against (and through) the walls of the tiny hovel. Water was pouring in through the walls and the roof, but at least the three inches of mud at her feet would keep the rats away for a little while.

Thunder boomed in time with flashes of lightning and the banging of bins and crates as they flew across the alienage square. The mess would be devastating, but it would still be better than a group of humans on a boys’ night out.

It was so loud that Merrill initially didn’t hear the banging on her door, assuming it was a crate hitting the outside of the hut. In any case, she was perched on a chair staring inconsolably at the Eluvian, having exhausted her current list of hypotheses on its repair. After all the drama with the Arulin'Holm and the varterral, the mirror remained grey and blank. She had put her books up out of the rain, but even if she opened them, they’d just grin at her with their impudent, papery lips.

A voice outside had been shouting “Merrill! MERRILL!!!” for several… minutes? Maybe longer, before she realised that, _Fen’Harel_ , that was her name that was being shouted. She didn’t recognise the voice – it was hoarse and tinny and shattered with rain on metal. She peeked through one of the many holes in the door and saw a flash of red cloth.

A Templar? Alone? Merrill remained very still, hoping the Templar would think she was not at home. She only had one candle alight, stuffed behind the Eluvian for protection against the rain and wind, and it wasn’t casting much light anyway. Merrill kept very, very still.

“MERRILL!!!” Bangbangbangbangbang. “It’s me… Carver… let me in, I’m not here to arrest you, please…”

Carver? But anyone could say they were Carver. Well, maybe not a woman, but even then, Merrill had trouble sometimes. She put her eye back to the hole in the door. It didn’t help.

The Templar stood back, flapped his arms helplessly and tugged off his helmet. “Please Merrill… I know you’re in there. Let me in.” The face was soaking wet and cringing from the barrage of water hitting it, but Merrill was pretty sure it was really him. She opened the door very suddenly, grabbed him by an armoured elbow and dragged him inside.

Carver spluttered furiously as he pulled off his gauntlets and squeezed the water from his hair and face. When he was done, he stopped and took in Merrill’s new garments – magnificent white armour which, even covered in mud, was clearly high quality and exquisitely crafted.

“Well,” he said, after some silence, “it seems taking up with _my sister_ has worked out well for you.”

Merrill looked blank. Carver gestured towards her chest. “The armour. It’s very nice.”

“Oh,” said Merrill, not sure how to take this. “Thank you.” Another thunderclap shook the walls, accompanied by a blast of rain lasting several minutes. They stood silently, waiting for it to pass.

When she was sure the rain had really subsided, Merrill said “Why are you here? You know I live with Hawke now.”

“I also know you sneak off to play with that Maker-damned mirror of yours.” He gestured angrily to the Eluvian. “I know you’ve bullied my sister into doing some nonsense to get the bloody thing working. I came to beg you to stop it.”

Merrill’s face hardened. “I haven’t _bullied_ anyone into anything, Carver. You of all people should know Hawke can’t be bullied into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“OK, fine. You didn’t bully her. She wholeheartedly endorsed this crack-brained idea and openly welcomes your bloody demon into—“

“— _why are you here?!_ You don’t listen to me, you’ve never listened to me. You’re a Templar, you swallow the Chantry stories and spit them out like vomit and all because you can’t live up to Hawke, because she _does_ things, she reads and learns and travels and all you do is disappear up your own—“

“ _Don’t_ compare me to my sister!” Carver grabbed Merrill’s arm, and was rewarded with a mind blast that knocked him flat on his arse despite his resistance. He remained on the floor looking up at her.

“Merrill… I’m not just vomiting Chantry lessons. I know a lot of what the Chantry says is bullshit. But I’ve seen too many people, Merrill, they think they won’t be the one to become an abomination… you’re not the first mage to think they can just invite a demon over for tea and biscuits. It’s not—“

“Get up,” said Merrill coldly. “You’re wallowing in the mud like a rat.” She put out a thin white hand and pulled him to his feet.

“You remember what happened to Thrask’s daughter, Merrill. She was infested by a rage demon—“

“Olivia died in mortal terror because Templars were going to _cut off her hands_ , Carver. _Of course_ the spirit overtook her. I have nothing to say to you.”

Carver grabbed her shoulders again, prepared with a silencing skill (he had learned very quickly that the Order didn’t like it when you called it a “spell”). “Please, Merrill. I know you want to help Hawke free the mages—“

“YOU! ARE! NOT! LISTENING!” roared Merrill. Carver halted in shock. Even at her angriest – and Merrill could get very, very angry – he had never heard her bellow like this. He didn’t think she _could_ shout.

“I don’t give a toss about the mages, Carver. I care about the _Dalish_. With the Eluvian we can uncover our history and revive our culture. We can stop being chased from here to there, trying to bow our heads so the shems don’t knock us down again.”

“This is the same Dalish that exiled you from their clan! Your own Keeper refused to help you do this! D’you think that _maybe_ she knows something you don’t?”

“She can’t _see_ , Carver. She’s stuck in her little world of halla and landships and hunting, she can’t see that – “

Carver laughed, a humourless bark slightly overshadowed by the thunder outside.

“I see what’s happening,” he nodded, “You’ve caught Marian’s disease. You make sure you’re surrounded by people who support your crazy ideas.”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Who’s your best friend in the alienage?”

This question stopped Merrill short. “I… well… they’re not very…”

“Well, who is _a_ friend in the alienage?”

Merrill thought hard. “…there’s Nyssa, the dressmaker…” She trailed off.

“And? How about Morag? The wineseller” he added helpfully, “or Brion, the rag trader? Or do I have more friends in the alienage than you do?”

Merrill’s eyes narrowed. “They’re not your _friends_ , Carver. They’re _informants_. They’re _afraid_ of you.”

“That’s as may be. But you haven’t bothered to make any friends, have you? If they knew you were planning to open a gateway to the Void right in the middle of their homes, they wouldn’t – “

“I don’t _need_ them! I have Marian and Isabela and Varric and…” Merrill horrified herself by bursting into tears. “Why are you doing this, Carver? We were friends. Even after you joined the Templars – “

Carver put his hands on her shoulders, very slowly. When she only sniffled, he pulled her into a gentle hug and patted her hair.

“Merrill, Varric loves you so much that he came all the way to the Gallows to tell me what you were doing – don’t jump, he swore me to secrecy and he didn’t know a lot of detail. But he’s very worried about you.” He pulled away and looked at her. “Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

Merrill angrily wiped tears from her face. “He doesn’t understand either. He _abandoned_ his culture, he hasn’t lost it. Dwarves still have underground cities with vaults towering above you, and giant statues of their Paragons, and Shaperates with thousands of books containing thousands of years of history… I’d love to see it,” she sighed wistfully.

“You don’t need to be some kind of boffin to care about the safety of someone you love.”

Merrill looked up at Carver, eyes still shining.

“Someone you love,” she repeated. “Do you love me, Carver?”

Carver blanched. “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Merrill gulped back fresh tears. “You used to ‘chat me up’. That was what Isabela called it. With the tattoo and the frolicking. I didn’t get it then.” She turned away, slapping his hands away from her shoulders. “There’s so much I wish I could do over again, Carver.”

Biting back the temptation to say _Marian’s obviously treating you just fine_ , Carver said “You still have a chance. Don’t go to Sundermount. Go to Orzammar, go to Ferelden, visit the library at Kinloch Hold – “

“You think they’ll just let an elf in there to read all their books, do you? A _mage_ elf.”

“At least it doesn’t involve summoning a fucking demon!” Merrill’s mouth tightened, and he realised he’d lost her. He tried again. “Merrill. I could arrest you, even have you made tranquil. But I don’t want to. I think you’re a good person. I … care about you. Very much. Please, Merrill. Listen to the people who love you.”

“If you love me, leave now.” Merrill glared coldly.

Carver didn’t know how to answer that. Did loving someone mean that you just gave them everything they wanted? Sometimes he regretted joining the Order so hastily, before ever being in love or having a proper job or living away from Marian and Mother. “Please… at least think about what I’ve said. You don’t have to do this.” But she was already closing down, stalking towards the door and throwing it open.

“The rain’s stopped. No one’s around. Go.”

As he went to walk out the door, he looked in her eyes. The coldness was gone, but her pout and the jut of her chin suggested that she had done all the thinking she was going to do. He wanted to kiss her, and he wasn’t totally sure if he wanted that because of Merrill, or if he wanted to get at Marian.

Instead, he sighed “Good-bye, Merrill. Give my regards to Marethari.” He slid his helmet on and strode across the alienage, splishing as he went.  


End file.
